


the smaller things in life

by Vellev



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Body Worship, Breast Worship, Chest Binder, FE3H Kink Meme, M/M, Religious Guilt, Sexual Repression, Switching, Trans Hubert von Vestra, Trans Male Character, Transgender Characters, Vaginal Fingering, hubert titty indulgence, porn with an unfortunate amount of plot, tit fucking, tit worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24046462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vellev/pseuds/Vellev
Summary: Ferdinand discovers an appreciation for the smaller things in life.---From the kinkmeme. Hubert has tiny titties. Ferdinand obsesses, but is repressed about it.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 19
Kudos: 174
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	1. bergamot

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is the first fic i've written in a few years, but damn am i having fun writing it. 
> 
> a bit of a warning, ferdinand's tit obsession might edge on fetishizing in some moments, depending on your own experiences and definitions. i'm just trans and i really like titties. read if you like titties.

Ferdinand had always been an appreciator of the grander, bigger things in life. The large festival of the Blue Sea Moon that stretched across Enbarr with sweet things and beautiful sights. The massive spectacle of an opera, thousands of performers joining to create one performance to remember. A large meal celebrating yet another of the Empire’s victories, meat and cakes and pies and other trifles on which to gorge oneself.

And then there had been pleasure in other large things. He’d been a young boy once, of course. He’s too honest to deny failing an exam question or two in those school days because his eyes could only lay on the pillow of Dorothea’s breast. He had spent far too long on his water break at the training grounds, looking at the curve of Caspar’s ass. It had all been good fun, nothing damaging. He’d gotten enough bullying back in their academy days from Dorothea, once she had discovered his lingering gaze, and well. When the woman had something to lord over someone, she would use it. He had been certain that the whole school thought he was some sort of perverted sinner for a month before the next tragedy happened and everyone got distracted once again.

Since then, though, there have been many--well, not _many,_ he is no pervert, thank you very much, Dorothea--other objects of his affection. He thinks about other things than big breasts when alone in bed, of course. He thinks of slim waists, gentle cheeks, and soft, gloved hands. He grows out of fantasizing about his friends, he claims, often. After all, who has time to lust after someone during a war? Certainly not Ferdinand. 

Anyway, he had found something much better than the strange object of teenage lust in his peers: honest-to-goddess friends. Ripped of his position and title, he falls into different routines with those around him, and discovers he is somehow the better for it. He plays the piano to accompany Dorothea late at night, Bernadetta teaches him something about embroidery, he spends hours at the stables forcing Linhardt to stay away for his certification exam training. And then, there’s his friendship with Hubert. Somehow, under Ferdinand’s nose, his relationship with Hubert has flourished beyond expectation. With enough polishing, a diamond was found within the burnt coal of their relationship in the Officer’s Academy, and now they are, if Ferdinand dare says it, friends. He will greet Hubert when he passes him in the halls, Hubert will make some ugly comment and sneer, and Ferdinand’s heart will skip. Hubert may meet him for lunch or dinner, and they will talk of wartime and sometimes pleasure. He’ll brew Hubert a fresh pot of nighttime tea, the closest approximation the lance-user has to a sleeping spell. He has a real, true, friend. Many, actually! It is the first period of time, in all of Ferdinand’s life, that he is surrounded by people who care about him so, who want to be around him so, who love him so. So who has the time to lust after someone? In wartime? In friendship? 

Hubert, Dorothea tells him, later. Hubert has time to lust after someone during a war. Hubert, who’s schedule was so full Ferdinand was quite certain over seventy percent of his blood was coffee, or some other weird viscous black liquid with magic caffeine-like properties. Hubert, who’s eyes were always lined with a dark circle, who stayed up night after night in the offices, leaning over maps and writing letters. Hubert, of all people, finds the time to lust. Of course, over who, Dorothea refuses to tell him. 

Ferdinand does nothing more to inquire after it when Dorothea tells him. As much as she brings it up, over and over even when it’s not relevant to anything at all, he considers the knowledge, quite plainly, not Dorothea’s secret to tell. He would not ask who Hubert’s crush was on. He was a friend, nothing more. Anyway, why should Hubert tell Dorothea about a crush before he’d tell Ferdinand? They had tea every day! Surely Hubert would tell him first. He would certainly. Dorothea must be making up things, he decides, just wants something else to tease him about. Anyway, why complicate himself in Hubert’s love life? Again, there was a war. Could it really be his place to distract Hubert from that?

Of course, as a part of the series of small humors that seems to be Ferdinand von Aegir’s life, he himself is the one that ends up getting distracted.

The first distraction in the circuit is simple. They’re out to tea--or to coffee, he supposes. They’re both drinking their own respective treats, and not insulting the other’s choice. They’re not looking into each other’s eyes. Ferdinand is not thinking about the thing Dorothea tells him--the, ahem. The _Hubert-fancying-someone_ business. They’re not thinking about their hands brushing together on the milk saucer. Ferdinand isn’t thinking about my, does Hubert look handsome in this lighting, even with an elbow leaning on the table. What does happen is that half a pot of black, tea, slightly over-brewed for their tea break has gone on too long, ends up baptizing the entirety of Huberts upper-body, slowly seeping lower.

Ferdinand is out of his chair immediately, which also knocks over the cup of sugar. He’s at Huberts side in a moment, handkerchief already making a quite useless appearance in his hand. “Oh, dear, let me--”

“I don’t think that is going to do anything to fix this.” Hubert says, as Ferdinand takes a knee, dabbing the handkerchief against the front of his jacket. There are many layers underneath, though, he knows. Hubert often claimed Ferdinand was the dandy, and yet Ferdinand was certain Hubert wore at least eight layers of the same exact black shirt under his jacket.

“Would you sit still? Does it hurt? You really must let me at least--”

“It was tepid at the hottest, so, no, it doesn’t hurt.” Hubert says, and pushes Ferdinand’s hands away from where they’re pressing the handkerchief against his chest. He looks up at Hubert, and sees a light flush coloring the man’s pale cheeks. Oh, god, too pale. He really did need more rest.

“Let me wash it for you.” 

“That really isn’t necessary.” Hubert is saying, while Ferdinand stands, already pulling Hubert to upright by his hands.

“I insist! You think I am just about to ruin your clothes and not do anything for it? What kind of a man do you think I am?” Ferdinand says. And then, as he sees Hubert open his mouth, “You know that was a rhetorical question.” He gives Hubert good look--it looks like there was only enough tea to truly soak his jacket, and maybe a few more of the silly layers he wore on top. The damage below was not so bad. Ferdiand takes off his tea-stained gloves, and throws them onto the table with the handkerchief. He’ll come back for them. Probably. “Let us get you changed. We cannot have you catching a cold like this.”

“A cold!” Hubert says, scoffing. “In case you haven’t noticed, the temperature here in the remnants of the Monastery has always been--” 

“Enough of that.” Ferdinand does something, fusses with the shoulders or the collar of Hubert’s jacket, aimlessly trying to whisk the liquid away. Goddess, it feels horrible and soggy. “You will come get changed.”

Ferdinand’s eyes go up to meet Hubert’s face. It was not a bit of redness, nor the beginnings of a sunburn earlier, as now it is quite evident that Hubert is blushing like the freshest Wyvern Moon tomato. Ah. “von Aegir, do you really think foolishness is necessary? I’m not going to catch a cold.” Hubert is making this face, with his nose squinched up, and his mouth, not sneering but--Ah. He’s moping.

It’s incredibly cute.

“Consider it like this, Hubert.” Ferdinand says, and my, oh my. It comes so easily. He looks up at Hubert, from under his eyelashes in the way he knows all noble men love to be looked at, biological sex or sexual orientation be damned. “If you were to catch a cold,” he raises the metaphorical knife, “you may become sluggish,” he brings down the metaphorical knife, “unable to fulfill your duties.” Metaphorical stab! “Just think of the losses the Empirical army might face if our most intelligent officer was out of commission.” He twists the metaphorical knife. 

Huberts mouth is open, but he says nothing.

Hubert lets Ferdinand lead him back to his room. They still stay in the same rooms that they did back when they were in school here, which--well it does feel a little silly. Ferdinand quite likes thinking about Hubert living here in his schooling days. It’s the same standard room as everyone’s, but he looks at the parchment paper, the books strewn about. Some small little black figurines and models. Some potion bottles it looks like. Now that they’ve entered a new, enclosed terrain, Ferdinand is able to get a whiff of just how much the tea soaked through Huberts clothing. He smells entirely like bergamot. 

“I will wash it for you.” Ferdinand bears repeating as he makes himself at home, sitting at the chair by Huberts desk. There’s far too many little things on Huberts desk that he could spend hours looking at, so he turns the chair around to look at Hubert’s face when he talks, a remnant of Ferdinand’s noble upbringing he hasn’t been able to shake. Looking in someone’s eyes was always necessary. “I have learned how to do laundry!” He exclaims. “I have gotten quite good at it. I found this special mix of suds, where, if you…” He trails off, for a moment, as he sees Hubert shake off his jacket. Ugh, so roughly, that’s how he’d tear it eventually. 

Hubert takes the pause in Ferdinand’s ramblings as an opportunity to interrupt. So rude! “Again, I don’t think that will be entirely necessary. It’s a black jacket anyway, it’ll dry.” 

Ferdinand says nothing, as Hubert begins to unbutton his shirt.

“I can tell you,” Hubert continues, and buttons are coming undone. Ferdinand mentally corrects himself, Hubert did not wear three hundred layers. Just the jacket, a shirt, and a tight vest underneath the shirt, it looks like. Hubert shrugs off the shirt, again, with zero regard to the quality of the fabric itself. “If you were to wash this jacket, or that shirt, there would be a lot worse on it than merely a few cups of chamomile. I haven’t washed it in a while, I haven’t a clue just how many poor pathetic soul’s blood might have stained it since it’s last good washing. The tea is probably cleansing for it to some degree.”

Just as Hubert’s thumbs hook at the bottom of the tight vest, black of course, he wears, beginning to lift it up, does it click in Ferdinand’s mind.

Ah. He’d always thought that Hubert had. Found some magic or something, some little spell, some potion. There’s never a moment where he’s been preoccupied with thinking about Hubert’s gender, he’s always been a man, just as he is now, of course. He isn’t expecting the small pale cups of flesh on Hubert’s chest, or the small pink nipples found there. Oh. 

His skin there is immaculate, not a pimple or freckle, just smooth expanses of skin, and the small breasts, perky and perfect. It seems like there’s hardly any weight to them, barely a cup, and Ferdinand is shocked how his mind immediately skips to the idea of holding them. Oh my.

Hubert turns away, showing a pale and perfect back, right down to a thin waist, and a small burst of hips at his belt-line, and. Ferdinand can feel himself redden in the face as well. 

He really had thought. That Hubert’s body was different, than he had magicked it different or something. It strikes his mind that he should be looking away. It wasn’t right to look at someone undress so.

But then there was Hubert, purposefully, consensually exposing himself like this. He could have told Ferdinand to wait outside, he could have turned away, hell, he could have told Ferdinand to look away, even. But no, he knew Ferdinand had been watching and still chose to...expose himself as he did. 

But maybe it was no matter. They were both men, it’s only natural to be comfortable shirtless around each other, right? Breasts or no breasts, what did it matter? Surely it wasn’t the end of the world to be shirtless. And Ferdinand, well, he would just have to deal with it. He was just going to have to sit tight and deal with it. Stand down, erection, you’re not wanted here. Do not be horny over your friend.

Oh, friend. Yes. They were friends. That was...nice.

“Ferdinand?” Hubert says, and Ferdinand is torn from his lustful musings. 

Ah, Hubert is wearing a shirt now. It’s another black shirt with eyelets down the sleeves. Ferdinand hates that he’s trying to see whether he can tell if Hubert is wearing another flattening vest underneath. 

“Bergamot.” He says, stupidly.

“Hm?” Hubert says, buttoning the top buttons.

“It was not chamomile, it was a bergamot.”

“Riveting.” 

Hubert is folding clothes. The wet jacket, the black shirt, the black vest. Ferdinand wonders, does Hubert have multiple vests? Or would he be waiting for Ferdinand to wash this one and let it dry? Goddess, he wonders. Would Hubert be going around, vestless and jacketless for the next day or so? Would there only be a thin layer between the world and… oh god, Ferdinand feels a little faint.

“Go on now. The washing, Prime Minister.” Ferdinand is out of the chair, quickly. Yes, yes. The washing. 

As he leaves, he can hear Hubert say with a sneer in his voice, “Now that I can get used to.”


	2. chamomile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ferdinand thinks about titties, a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully this chapter will be a little less clunky than the last, a friend offered to beta this for me! it's wild how much longer this is getting than i intended. but hey, as an act of method-writing, i also spent all day thinking about hubert's titties, so. i get you, ferdinand.

Ferdinand does not think about Hubert’s breasts when he lays down for bed that night. His mind is free of lustful thoughts as he envelopes himself in his sheets. There is an ache in his shoulders and thighs, a reminder again that he must stretch more thoroughly before training. The skin on his hands is dry--he had spent the latter part of his evening washing and hanging. (Hubert’s jacket did, in fact, leak some horrible reddish-black substance when cleaned, which then soiled Ferdinand’s gloves again, potentially beyond repair.) But, he succeeds. He goes one night without thinking of the glimpse of his friend’s nakedness he happened upon.

Of course, he awakens in the morning thinking of perfect pink nipples. 

Goddess. Why. 

He gets out of bed instead of lingering there, else he might accidentally prolong his morning routine with unsavory activities. 

First thing in the morning is the stables. Chulainn is in a bad mood, he fears his teeth may need filing soon, but calms under his hands with a good thorough brushing. He’d like to take him out for a ride, but he has quite a bit of other things to do. Maybe in the evening, he thinks as he places a kiss on Chulainn’s snout. He shovels the stable ground, puts more chips down. Refills the water gives some more hay for the lot of the beasts. With Chulainn fed, brushed, and resting in a clean pen, he goes about his day.

He’s not thinking about Hubert’s breasts at the breakfast table. Why would he be? When there are sights like Caspar somehow consuming an entire pancake in one bite, why would he think about Hubert’s breasts? No, he needs to get in his calorie intake of the day, which means it is time to start eating sausage now. 

(As many times as his eyes scan the crowd, he doesn’t see Hubert in the dining hall that morning.)

He does remember to stretch before training, though it is not a pleasure. Even stretching gives him too much time to think, too many thoughts in his head. It’s not surprising that once he begins his run, he’s able to think about little else than.

Goddess. He bets they’re soft. They’re breasts for goddess’ sake! They must be. The idea of Hubert’s softness is beyond him. The man presents himself as all sharp edges. A sharp jawline, sharp cheekbones. A sharp eye, a sharp tongue. Hubert’s body always has seemed prickly, like it’s carved of edges rather than curves. And yet… Ferdinand can’t think of anything more artistic, more sweet than the curves he saw yesterday. 

Barely more than a handful, and still, Ferdinand cannot stop thinking. His run is insufferable, but at least his mind finds peace in his training routine with his lance. 

A sauna is a fantastic place to not think about breasts, he lies to himself as he changes into sauna gear in the locker room. He’s sweaty, and his muscles hurt, and he’s ready to be a proper young man.

The sauna does present some opportunities, though. Bodies are, to some degree, on display here.

He thinks back to the days when to his eyes, all bodies were kept behind closed doors. He thinks of the first time he saw a nude painting. He thinks of the first time his parents tried to set him up for courting, chaperoning his mid-afternoon outings and judging every stilted conversation with sharp eyes. He thinks of the first time he saw a girl in a short-sleeved shirt. So much in nobility is to be hidden. Entering the Officers Academy was something else, so many people with so much freedom of expression. Ankles to upper thighs bared. He’d had a time adapting, still too uncomfortable at the time to take off his gloves and expose his hands. He’d had months of sexual discovery and exploration—he hadn’t come to terms with his own attraction to men until the Officer’s Academy.

Since then, though, the world has been calm. No ankles will distract him from class or battle. People were just people, and they all had bodies. Best not to get distracted, since the bodies weren’t going anywhere. He’d gotten over his teenage lust quickly, and was all the better for it.

So, in the sauna, he’s able to gaze upon others comfortably. Chests that, during his Officer’s Academy days, would have left him useless for days. Backsides that would make him blush and avert his eyes. And... 

There’s nothing.

And then there’s the thought of Hubert’s breasts.

There’s something. 

Why? This was getting ridiculous. 

He doesn’t want to be lusting over his friend, he considers, still sweating himself out in the sauna, letting the heat pour into his aching muscles. He doesn’t want that. He wants to be friends with Hubert, wants to have tea with him, spend time with him. He’d like Hubert to let Ferdinand show him how nice Chulainn was, how horses don’t have to be scary. He wants Hubert to give him coffee tastings to prove to him that the different blends actually matter. He wants to help Hubert cut his hair when it gets too long. He wants to help him shave, teach him how to do it himself. He wants to know when Hubert’s birthday is, he wants to do something special for it. He wants to bring him sliced fruit in the latest hours of the night when he knows the man should be asleep, and nod off in a chair beside him just to be close. 

It occurs to him, very gently, that he might be in love with Hubert. 

He gets out of the sauna and refuses to think about that. 

No, this is some sort of strange, hormone-fueled lust thing. Ferdinand considers venturing to the destroyed cathedral, giving a little prayer. Maybe this is what happens when you try to murder the archbishop. Perversion. 

The iciness of his post-sauna shower can only help him so much.

Well, would he like Hubert titty-less still? Absolutely. So, it wasn’t all about his breasts. 

But that certainly was a part of it, right? Or else he wouldn’t be thinking about how many love marks he could bite onto them.

He checks on the laundry hanging after lunch (still no Hubert in the dining hall), and it’s still quite damp. He looks at the size of the vest. It was...Ferdinand liked it, somehow. Maybe just because it was so close to the current problem plaguing his mind, but he likes it. He realizes that if he inspects is very close, there’s a pattern in the fabric, but it’s black-on-black, so one can barely make it out. He loves that. 

He thinks back to Hubert taking off the vest. It was tight, it needed to be peeled off, almost. But maybe all wet clothes needed to be pulled off? Ferdinand had noticed pink marks in a few places around Hubert’s rib cage, where the fabric must have been digging in. Was it uncomfortable? Did it hurt much? Ferdinand’s back is always aching just from his training, he can’t imagine having that pain in addition. 

His afternoon meeting with Edelgard is, thankfully, Hubert-free. It is only Ferdinand, the Empress, and the professor, their eyes as empty and emotionless as always. It’s funny how back at the Officer’s Academy, Ferdinand had nothing but trust for his teacher, but now, as the years trail on, he finds their presence more unsettling than comforting at times. Thinking about war strategies is a much more fulfilling distraction than the other he’s had throughout the day, and he finds his mind nearly at peace. But, even Edelgard, cold and calculating, needs to call him back to the real world when he loses himself in his own thoughts three or four times.

Dinner is with Dorothea. She spies him from across the cafeteria, eyes zeroing in, and then her target is made. He never stands a chance. She pushes a cheese gratin on him he can’t refuse and sits beside him at the table. He always thought it would be easier to sit across from the person you’re eating with, but ah, this was just how they’d done it at the Officer’s Academy. He always thought it had been some strange Alliance etiquette, but they kept it up even now. 

“Dorothea, really, I could have gotten food myself.”

“And have me risk letting you out of my sight? Not a chance.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. What had he done now?

“Last night?” Oh. “Music?” Oh, yes. “The aria I’m practicing?” Oh, dear.

He shuts his eyes, grimacing at his own stupidity. 

“You really thought that I was just going to let you get away with standing me up?”

“You must understand, Dorothea, it was not my intention--”

“You’d just leave a lady waiting like that? No notice? No accompanist?”

“Dorothea, really, I can explain.”

“Of course you can,” she says, and forgoes good posture, leaning back in her chair. “Everyone can always explain.” He can tell she’s not actually angry, and this is just one of her...her little games. Indulging in a mistake of his. Thankfully, this means, usually, when he does make a mistake, she’s happier for it, as it just adds another weapon to her arsenal of material to tease him with. 

“I ended up having to attend to some late-night washing, and my whole schedule got put behind.” 

“Late night washing? What did you do? Fall into the pond?”

He frowns. “No, just had an accident.”

“You don’t mean to say that…” She trails off, a smile on her face, and eventually, Ferdinand understands she doesn’t intend to finish her sentence. Then, he feels the blood rising to his face.

“Not _that sort of accident,_ Dorothea. Goddess, no, I--”

“Well, that’s good to hear. I would hope you’d have grown out of such things when you were, I don’t know, five.”

“I said it was not that sort of accident, Dorothea, really, must you--”

“I really must.”

He brings a gloved hand to his face, rubbing. “I merely spilled something, and wanted to wash it immediately.”

She lowers her fork. “Well, that’s disappointing. I was hoping it would be something more embarrassing.”

“It is not,” he says, becoming quite interested in the previously unremarkable gratin.

“Maybe I’ll decide I don’t believe you. Maybe you were spending the night with some lover you haven’t told me about.”

“Well, I can tell you, it certainly was not that.”

“It would be more interesting if it had been. Or, ah, maybe her Majesty is having you do some wild plan that requires you going out at night--” 

“Nothing of the sort, you know very well I would not be equipped for such endeavors. Hubert is the much more suited party for those sorts of missions,” Ferdinand says, and immediately wants to bash his head in at the way his mind races to lewd images that are _not appropriate for the dinner table_ when he says Hubert’s name.

“Ah, so it was a Hubert related accident.”

“It was no-- what gives you the idea it was a Hubert-related accident! There is nothing pointing in that direction!”

“The look on your face points in that direction. What happened? Ending up having tea past midnight?” 

“No, I merely spilled some tea, and, gentleman that I am, offered to do the washing to repair my error.” There. The truth was out. No accidents, no lovers, no nefarious plots. He lets out a sigh.

“Ah. Well. Surely it could be more interesting. As you sure there were no lovers involved?”

“That I can assure you on,” he replies, focusing on the gratin. Hm, maybe if he eats more foods he’s not partial to, his taste buds will change. Imagine that.

“Tonight then, perhaps?”

He splutters indignantly. “I am certain I can tell you that there will be no lovers tonight, either!”

Dorthea’s grin is sharp and knowing. “Are lovers on your mind, Ferdinand?” He refuses to grace her with a response. “You’re no fun. I was, of course, talking about the aria you so rudely stood me up for. You’re really the best at sight-reading music, other than Manuela, of course.”

He nods. “If I must. I really do think Professor Casagranda may be a better accompanist for you, though.” 

“Nonsense. You do a very good job of it. The lessons your parents must have put you through certainly paid off…” Ferdinand has always had trouble doing two things at once, so once another sight enters his field of vision, Dorothea’s words fall on mute ears.

Ferdinand looks up from where he’s aimlessly pushing around the gratin, and there, across the table from him, is Hubert. He’s walking past but doesn’t ignore Ferdinand, instead giving him a small nod and an expression Ferdinand would loosely define as a smile. 

Ferdinand is not thinking about breasts. He’s focusing very hard on Dorothea’s words, goodness, she’s complimenting him for goddess’ sake, it is easy to just focus on what she’s saying. Ignore the fact that Hubert is, indeed, wearing just a black shirt with no jacket. The shirt is different than yesterday afternoon’s, tight, well-fitting. It only does favors to Hubert’s figure, defining his slim waist and hips, and. Ferdinand can see little pebbles of nipples underneath the black fabric, poking through.

He turns his head away. Yes. Dorothea. Saying words. Ahaha. He does not watch Hubert’s back as he walks away. 

He takes a breath and turns his full attention back to Dorothea. She is watching him, chin resting on her bridged fingers. She is smiling. He is bright red.

“Oh, hush.”

“I haven’t said anything.” The smile on her face is almost painfully smug. 

“You do not need to.”

“Oh, but I will.”

He sighs. “Oh, but you will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be the last-and the horniest. let ferdinand touch a boob!


	3. café au lait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after several thousand words ferdinand! sucks! a! titty!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9k words in was the first time i said the word fuck, which feels like a personal best! thank you so much to my beta reader, whom i love! i also was intending for ferdinand to be more dominant, but then hubert got away from me, so enjoy some switchy boys. 
> 
> also, i faced a problem in writing this, so, i've made a decision. during sex, ferdinand can have little a contraction usage, as a treat.
> 
> here is some AMAZING ART i cannot get over of a scene in this chapter. [ please check out @bonebahamut on twitter for more amazing art!!!](https://twitter.com/bonebahamut/status/1259444205304180736?s=20) i seriously cannot get over how beautiful it is.

Ferdinand is blessedly able to distract Dorothea from any further teasing by indulging her in some musical accompaniment. They practice--and drink some--late into the night, so thankfully, he falls asleep with his mind unplagued by rosy pink nipples.

The first speckled sunlight of morning curses him with regret and a headache he’d rather leave to yesterday. Leave it to Dorothea to tempt him to drink too much, and leave it to his own noble upbringing to get him sick in the morning. He turns over in bed, much more wishing he wasn’t alive than thinking of anything else. He really must take Chulainn out for a ride today, but the idea of jostling his head that much pains him to think about. Maybe after breakfast. He lets himself relax in bed, indulging in his own misery for the morning. 

He forces himself out of bed for a breakfast he finds some way to stomach. The day drags on.

The professor trains with him in the morning, he shows them sword combat moves, but it feels pointless. Ferdinand’s sword hasn’t seen battle in years, instead he’s far more comfortable with a lance or axe by his side. The professor uses swords so much more often, it should be _them_ teaching _him_. Lunch passes. He takes Chulainn out for a ride, the horse somewhat petulant over a day in the stables. The area surrounding Garreg Mach has been well-trodden, but he always loved journeying further than the beaten path. The morning's sluggishness has worn off him, and instead he finds himself calm in his thoughts with his horse below him.

Two things were proven quite true in the events of yesterday.

For the first, he is hopelessly sexually attracted to Hubert.

This was something that, thank the saints, didn’t haunt him today. He is attracted to Hubert. This is fine. He likes men, he’d had many attractions to men in his life. He’s always thought there was a beauty to Hubert’s dark features, carved from marble. He’s always been--ah, how did the books he’d read as a child put it?--tall, dark, and handsome. Ferdinand has eyes, of course, and can appreciate beauty when he sees it. As long as he does not allow his attraction to Hubert to not become...debilitating, as it had the previous day, all should be well. 

Secondly, he is romantically attracted to Hubert.

This is harder to understand in his mind. He didn’t identify it, but it feels so clear. He admires the man, his work ethic, his strength, his determination. There’s always been something about Hubert to look up to, and not only literally. Ferdinand used to envy Hubert’s ability to get his hands dirty for a cause, and no matter how many bodies fall to Ferdinand’s lance, it somehow feels different. No time with Hubert feels wasted, instead, he treasures each teatime, each late night strategy meeting. Goddess, he’s in love with _Hubert_. Well, in love might be a stretch, he’d like to think of it as a crush. Crushes were normal to get on people who were close to you. He remembers Dorothea spending hours distraught in his room, unable to come to a decision about her crush on Petra. She loved her, she had said, as a friend, but also somehow more than a friend. That she hadn’t known what she wanted out of it, but had all these feelings in her chest and nothing to do with them. She’d ended up telling Petra, Ferdinand thinks, out of a desire for honesty more than anything else. He wonders if Hubert deserves that honesty as well, or if the man would just find some way to manipulate Ferdinand with it.

His afternoon ride leaves him with more questions than answers, but he still thinks he’s learned something. About the world, about himself. Something.

Either way, Chulainn is happy with an extra-long ride, and when he brings him back to the stables, he’s relaxed and satiated for a good, thorough brushing. 

Smelling awfully of horse, Ferdinand takes himself to the bathhouse for a shower. Ah, his hair would take forever to dry, and he hopes that it’ll be mostly done before bed. He spends some time in his room, brushing in oils, and fiddling with the waves. He considers putting it up—he had to go about his day, and his parents had always taught him that wet hair in public was quite unseemly. But then it’d never dry. A braid, maybe. 

What next? Ah, the war council room and then supper. He wanted to see if they’d gotten notice back about the plans they’d drawn up yesterday, and letters were coming faster these days. He opens his door, and will be the first to admit jumping out of his skin at the tall, dark figure standing there. “Ah!” 

“Ferdinand.”

“Saints, you cannot just sneak up on someone like that!” He feels his heart thumping in his chest.

“Actually, I fear I have trouble not ‘sneaking up on people like that.’ It’s all I know,” Hubert says, and shifts his weight where he stands, putting a hand on his hip. He looks...unsure, Ferdinand notices. Had he been just standing outside of his door?

“Still. Take mercy,” Ferdinand says, and feels his heartbeat slow for a moment.

“You forgot to take down the laundry,” Hubert says, as Ferdinand begins to really look at him. Hubert is... 

Hubert is wearing another black shirt, billowier than last night’s. There is air in the sleeves, air in the midsection. It drapes so sweetly where it’s tucked into his trousers, making his waist and hips look sinfully thin. And then, and Ferdinand can feel himself staring, then there are about four or five buttons undone on Hubert’s shirt. A line of beautifully exposed milky skin, going down to nearly to his belt. There’s no evidence of his vest, or even a brassière, just a beautiful sea of skin.

And, like water poured on hot rocks in the sauna, Ferdinand’s mind is pushed into the very shadows of perversion. He’s thinking about what’s under that shirt, and how just the slightest wrong movement could have the loose shirt exposing everything. 

“I had almost believed you when you said you’d gotten very good at it.” Hubert says.

“At what?”

“The laundry, Ferdinand.”

“Ah, yes, yes, the laundry.” Only then does he see Hubert holding out a handkerchief and a pair of dry white gloves. “Ah! The laundry!”

“Yes. The laundry.” Hubert says, nodding his head to punctuate the obviousness of the words. Ferdinand has gotten quite used to feeling stupid at this point. “Were you really just intending to leave it drying until it rained next?”

“Not at all, it just… Passed my mind, merely.”

“You mean you forgot.”

“Well, yes…” Ferdinand bumbles.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Hubert says, with purpose. Even after the defined words, though, he stands there, almost expectantly.

Ferdinand is pointedly doing his best not to look at the unbuttoned area of Hubert’s shirt.

“Are you going to invite me in, von Aegir?” Hubert says, finally.

“Oh, yes, yes.” He laughs, and it sounds forced, even to himself. “Where are my manners? Come in! Forgive the disarray, I have been polishing some armor and it needs to be left out to dry.”

Hubert slides into his room with that same graceful elegance he seems to embody with his every movement. “Is that so? How long does it need to be left to dry?”

Ferdinand never thought armor care would be one of Hubert’s passions, but he certainly doesn’t mind being able to share his knowledge. “Well, about 16 or so hours for this coat.”

“How long have you left it out to dry?”

Ferdinand thinks about it. Well, he’d put this layer of polish on on Thursday, so... “Three days, I think.”

“Precisely. Ferdinand, recently, you’ve been absent.”

“Absent? I am right here!”

“Mentally, I mean, you idiot. You’ve been distracted.” Well, Ferdinand thinks, he’s not wrong. 

“I think I am as good an officer as ever.”

“You know that’s not what I mean. Arnault and Her Majesty both had concerns for you. If this distraction follows you onto the battlefield, von Aegir…”

“It will not! I swear it. I am as sharp as I have always been.” 

“Ferdinand, don’t be stupid. I can tell something is the matter with you, and it is my duty as a Minister of the Imperial Household to make sure that whatever is bothering you is--”

“Really, it does not need to be a concern of yours! I will figure this out.” He feels like a teenage boy, getting shamed for lingering eyes all over again.

“Is there any way I can quell your distraction?”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean,” Hubert takes a pause, as if deciding how to phrase what to say next, “I mean. If a man is distracted by desire to eat something, eating that will stop the distraction. If a man is troubled by a song stuck in his mind, hearing it will end his troubles. If a man is driven crazy with hatred, killing that whom sparks hatred in his chest will set his mind at peace.” Hubert leans against one of the walls of Ferdinand’s room, looking ever so casual. God, he’s beautiful, Ferdinand thinks. The way he’s taken to wearing his hair these past few years, the way it frames his face, the oils he must have started putting in it. This—saints, Ferdinand is tempted to even call it a _fashion sense_ that Hubert has adopted. He’s a vision to behold. “I am in your service, Ferdinand, to quell whatever plagues your mind.”

Well. That was a tempting offer. Goddess, was it. His ears burn with the words, and Ferdinand surely hopes that sentence doesn't ring in his ears when he tries to go to bed that night. He was above pleasuring himself to the thought of a friend, to the thought of someone he respects. “This one, Hubert, I think I really must solve myself,” he says, finally, after mulling it over for a few moments. 

Hubert’s back straightens from where he was leaning against the wall. Spitfire is in his voice, a blade meant to pierce. “Am I really so ugly?” He spits the words out.

“What?” 

“Am I really that disgusting? I’m not even worth a proper rejection? Just constant excuses?”

Ferdinand merely stands there, mouth open. “ _I beg your pardon?_ ” 

“I have been throwing myself at you for the past, Saints, Ferdinand, the past few months, and every single time, there is always some excuse--”

“Are you meaning to say that you are--”

“Yes, you unworldly fool--”

“To _seduce me_ \--”

“I _undressed in front of you_ \--”

“I did not think that--”

“And you just made, what?!” Hubert exclaims, his voice raised. “More excuses! Just more and more excuses! ‘Oh, Hubert, I need to go do this,’ ‘oh, I need to go do that!’ What more do I need to get it through your thick skull that I want you?”

Ah. Ferdinand takes a breath. Hubert...wanted him? The thought feels absurd. “You want me?”

“And here we go again.” Hubert rolls his eyes. “I don’t think there is a way to make it any clearer than I just did. Well, I thought there wasn’t any way to make it clearer than literally undressing in front of you, but desperately stupid times are cause for desperate measures.” Desperate…

Ferdinand lets out a small chuckle, which builds into a laugh, which eventually shakes through his body. “Desperate?!” He says, through his laughter.

“I fail to see what it is you find so funny,” Hubert says, and he’s moping again, and it’s so cute that Ferdinand can no longer stay where he’s standing awkwardly in the middle of his own bedroom, instead crowding Hubert against the wall.

“You, desperate? Hubert!” Ferdinand takes a breath, trying to quell his laughter. “You have driven me so mad over the past couple days I am surprised I have been able to sleep!” 

Hubert, for some reason, frowns, and to Ferdinand, it’s absolutely perfect. “You what?”

“Hubert, I. I am not even certain what to say. I nearly fell off my horse this morning thinking about your--...” Ferdinand trails off. Ah, he wasn’t sure if this conversation was ready for that level of detail yet.

“My?”

“Thinking about you, Hubert. That is why I have been so distracted these last few days.” Ferdinand stands in front of Hubert directly now, not touching him, but positioning the man between him and the wall. Even though it troubled him when he was younger, he quite likes being able to look up at Hubert now, all eyelashes and romance. “I have been thinking about you.” 

Hubert’s lip trembles. Ferdinand dearly wants to kiss it.

“If you’re playing a trick on me, I will see that your life comes to a slow and painful expiration.”

“No tricks here, Hubert. You know I am not smart enough for that sort of thing.”

“If you’ve felt this way, then—” Ferdinand can feel the closeness between him and Hubert. They’re close enough that he can feel Hubert’s breath on his face, and he thinks: he could kiss him from here. It would take barely any effort at all. From here, why, he was so close to Hubert, his chest would brush against his with the smallest bit of movement. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you do anything?”

“I never had any invitation,” Ferdinand says, and there’s lust in his voice, he can feel it. He doesn’t hide his stare now, the way his eyes lower to the open buttons of Hubert’s shirt.

“Is this invitation enough?” Hubert says, and. Ah. The hand at the back of his head isn’t unwelcome, but the press of lips against Ferdinand’s own is what makes him melt. He eases into the kiss quickly, his hands finding a home at Hubert’s waist, settling so perfectly. 

Hubert kisses like there’s a war to win. There’s passion, and teeth, and tongue, and Ferdinand can’t find himself complaining. Hubert is constant movement, and yes. The word echoes in Ferdinand’s mind. _Desperate._

__“How I’ve wanted you,” Hubert says, into Ferdinand’s mouth, which, well. Ferdinand has to laugh at that, or at least smile, Hubert’s lips fighting to stay pressed against his._ _

__“You haven’t a clue.”_ _

__“I think I do,” Hubert says, capturing Ferdinand’s lips back to his again. This time, his hold on the back of Ferdinand’s neck is punishing, holding him close and preventing him from pulling back or being anywhere but Hubert’s arms. He kisses him deeply, and Ferdinand remembers he has hands, and eagerly takes the time to stroke the gentle curve of Hubert’s waist he’s spent so long fantasizing about._ _

__Breathless, Ferdinand drops his head to Hubert’s neck, and talks against the skin there. Hubert’s hand stays against the back of his head—glove surely getting wet from Ferdinand’s still-drying hair. “No, really. You haven’t a clue. Hubert, I have been. My lust for you has almost sent me to the cathedral to pray for the goddess to take this perversion out of my mind. Hubert, I…”_ _

__Hubert sighs, beautifully, and Ferdinand can feel the man’s breasts against his own chest. He aches._ _

__“Hubert, thoughts of you have haunted my every waking moment.”_ _

__“I don’t think anyone has ever called my tits haunting before.”_ _

__“Not like that! It is, just…” Ferdinand nuzzles his face against Hubert’s neck, adoring the feeling of being this close to him. “I fear I have become obsessed.”_ _

__“Ferdinand, what is there to fear?”_ _

__“Myself, I think.” Ferdinand discovers he’s been standing too tall, his neck craned, and if he lowers it, his mouth meets Hubert’s collarbone. It’s the most perfect feeling. He lays a small, sweet, entirely innocent kiss there, and feels Hubert shiver. “I do not want to inflict my own lustful thoughts on you. I fear my obsession may have grown too large.”_ _

__Hubert makes an annoyed little noise, and removes his hand from the back of Ferdinand’s neck. The loss feels pointed, and some fear strikes in Ferdinand’s heart when he feels Hubert begin to fidget and fiddle with something, pushing him away from his place at Hubert’s collar. Had he said something wrong? Ruined this for himself before it even began? Well, he’d treasure their kisses forever, so this wouldn’t be all for naught._ _

__But, ah, while Ferdinand is doubting, Hubert has been at work, though it seems to take very little effort for him to push the two unbuttoned sides of his shirt down over his shoulders, so the fabric gathers at his bent elbows, and his whole chest is exposed. One moment, there is a gorgeous fashion statement that Ferdinand wants to commission as one of the most beautiful art pieces of the century, and next, there is an expanse of pale unblemished skin decorated with two perfect, pink peaks. Ferdinand almost goes dizzy. “Go on, then. Get over your fears.”_ _

__Ferdinand is instantly joyous that he forwent his gloves as he was taking care of his hair, as now, his hands are blessedly bare. The journey from Hubert’s waist to his chest is not a long one, but Ferdinand revels in every moment of it, taking his time to appreciate it all. His skin is so soft. It’s soft as the sweetest voice in a choir, and Ferdinand can’t believe he’s touching it as he brings his hands up and around Hubert’s chest. He can only imagine the look of focus on his face as he traces his fingertips up, until, finally his palm finds a home with Hubert’s breast._ _

__It’s such a sweet little handful, somehow so contrasting and yet so fitting with the man in front of him. They’re so taut, and perky, and Ferdinand finds himself surprised that they’ve stayed such through the flattening of the vest, through the war._ _

__Nowhere near satisfied, but eager, Ferdinand presses his lips against Hubert’s again, and the man sighs into the kiss, leaning his head down. He’s so perfect it hurts._ _

__This kiss is gentler, searching. Ferdinand doesn’t need to see Hubert’s chest to indulge in it, his hands massaging and gliding over the skin. He dances his fingers over a nipple, and he feels Hubert inhale into the kiss._ _

__He parts again, and talks with his mouth beside the man’s. “Are they sensitive?”_ _

__“Seemingly only when you touch them,” Hubert responds, doing a horrible job at sounding annoyed._ _

__“Then I will have to touch more.” And he does. He takes one of Huberts small nipples between two fingers, and applies the gentlest pressure. Hubert bows his chest forward, pressing into the gentle touch, quietly asking for more as well._ _

__Ferdinand doesn’t know how long he spends groping Huberts breasts, giving him little intermittent kisses in-between. He’s happy there’s no timer, though, as he’s sure he could spend hours indulging in the curves of Hubert’s body. Hubert grows breathier, though, heavy inhales and exhales warming the air between the two of them. Ferdinand’s lips already feel dry, and somehow, it’s like Hubert knows, when he kisses him again, again, again._ _

__And then, Hubert’s hands begin wandering, from Ferdinand’s neck, to his shoulders, to his waist, back up again. He was somehow expecting Hubert’s hands to be rough, punishing somehow, but there’s a softness from the man he’s never felt before. Hubert touches him like he is holding the most delicate tea pot. Ferdinand dearly wants to bury himself in the man’s arms and never leave._ _

__“I have mentioned how perfect you are, correct?” Ferdinand murmurs, nearly speaking against the man’s lips with how unwilling he is to part from them._ _

__“I could always bear with another reminder,” Hubert replies, and ah. His voice. That voice! Ferdinand was practically doing a disservice to the world by capturing the man’s mouth and silencing him. Instead, he trails his mouth to the man’s neck, and. _Oh.__ _

__The noise Hubert makes is somewhere between a sigh and a moan, and Ferdinand needs more of it. He indulges in what he’s only heard about, sucking the flesh of Hubert’s neck into his mouth, teeth touching skin. Hubert’s hands tighten where they’re stilled on Ferdinand’s shoulders, squeezing the fabric of his shirt. There’s something that feels so immeasurably right about kissing at Hubert’s neck, Ferdinand would exist here forever if he could. Soft heavy breaths, warm skin glistening with saliva. His leg positions itself so easily between Hubert’s legs, not yet pressing up, but holding the taller man steady and secure. He sucks onto the man’s skin harder, hand continuing its undeniable groping of Hubert’s chest._ _

__“Ah, I may have left a mark. You are so pale, really--”_ _

__“If you don’t put your mouth back on me this instant, I’m not going to your funeral w-when, _oh…_ ” Hubert’s voice collapses into pleasure when Ferdinand plucks at his chest again. _ _

__“My apologies, were you trying to say something?” Ferdinand asks, smiling against Hubert’s neck. He leaves a few more biting kisses there, and Hubert seems to have given up on replying with words, his hips moving against Ferdinand’s own, crotch grinding down against Ferdinand’s thigh._ _

__Since he certainly didn’t seem to be complaining, Ferdinand lets himself leave a trail of red marks down Hubert’s neck, and he swears he can see the little capillaries shining through the man’s pale skin. The lower down he goes, the closer he gets to another sort of prize, and before he knows it, his tongue is against the top of Hubert’s right breast. He needs to crane his neck slightly, lean down, but he barely feels the pain in his shoulders as he licks stripes of saliva up the handful._ _

__“Ferdinand—” Hubert says, and his voice is not as breathy as before, tone making Ferdinand stop in his tracks. Was something the matter?_ _

__“Do you want to stop?” As much as the thought of being separated from the morsel in front of him, he’d remove himself immediately at Hubert’s request._ _

__“No, you buffoon. I want to move to the bed. As much as I like the idea of you pinning me against a wall, my head feels like it’s about to fall off my spine at this angle.”_ _

__Ah. Hubert’s height did make a difficulty of such things. Ferdinand’s bed was only a few steps away. It wasn’t a long journey. But, to remove himself from Hubert’s arms..._ _

__He pulls himself away, somewhat sadly, but Hubert’s hand finds his as they make their way to Ferdinand’s (unmade--oh, how _unseemly_!) bed. _ _

__Ferdinand stands there, unsure in his own inexperience for a moment, before Hubert’s hands are on his shoulders, forcing him to sit down on the edge of the bed. Then, oh, one of Hubert’s legs is on one side of him, and the other leg is on the other side of him. And, oh, then the weight of Hubert’s pelvis is on Ferdinand’s own, and he’s _straddling_ Ferdinand, and yes, he can get very used to this. He can’t help but look up at Hubert, smiling, his hands coming up to rest gently on the man’s thighs. Saints, was he beautiful. The lighting in Ferdinand’s room is no good, and yet, Hubert somehow looks like a painting, the meager light coloring the highlights of his skin. The love marks Ferdinand bit into his neck and collar darken, and he’s lovely. _ _

__“Must you make that horrible expression?”_ _

__“I really must,” he says, his smile not wavering. “I cannot believe I have you.” He prepares to muse about the man, break out some of his poetry training. “Hubert, you are…”_ _

__“Save it,” Hubert says, and even with the bad lighting, Ferdinand can see a flush on his cheeks. Adorable. “I think you could say you’re a virgin with fewer words.” Ferdinand doesn’t quite know how to reply to that, so he keeps his mouth shut. It’s not like he’d been pretending he had more experience than he does. “Haven’t you started something you’ve yet to finish?” Hubert asks._ _

__Ferdinand looks up at him. “Hm?”_ _

__Hubert shifts his posture, back arching towards Ferdinand, which somehow pushes their groins further together. Ferdinand lets his hands move to Hubert’s hips, and then down, gripping the man’s ass. “Like this?” he asks._ _

__Hubert hums, and saints, he sounds downright _evil_ , and Ferdinand can feel his trousers get a bit tighter. “As appealing as that is, I meant something a little more like this.” _ _

__Huberts hand is forceful on the back of Ferdinand’s neck, directing his head until his face is rudely shoved against Hubert’s chest. Oh. Yes. Ferdinand needs no further instruction, mouth back at Hubert’s breast within the second. His tongue finds one of Hubert’s nipples, and the man above him sighs, so Ferdinand takes no hesitation to trace circles around the hard buds with his tongue. Hubert’s hands—now ungloved, Ferdinand notices—grip strong shoulders yet again._ _

__Ferdinand licks from one nipple to the other, making sure neither are left absent enough for the saliva to dry. His hands come up from where they gripped Hubert’s ass to his back, and hold him steady and close._ _

__“You like this, right?” Hubert asks him. “I don’t know why you try to hold yourself back.” Ferdinand adjusts to say something, to reply, but Hubert grips him by the back of his head, hand tangled in damp hair, and holds him in place. So Ferdinand stays silent, and continues to lather affection on Hubert’s chest. “You’re allowed to want things. You’re allowed to take things as your own.” Ferdinand moans, against Hubert’s nipple, and he’s so hard he hurts below. He lets his lips surround one of Hubert’s nipples, and sucks him in deeply. “I don’t know why you’re so caught up in what’s perverted or not, when—saints, Ferdinand—I’m right here.” Ferdinand doesn’t even know if Hubert’s making sense. He wants to spend years with his mouth on the man’s nipples, just like this, making him quiver in his arms._ _

__Hubert is reactive, but sitting like this, still effortlessly confident. His soft moans are somehow less nervous than before, but comfortable as he keeps Ferdinand’s head pressed against his chest. Ferdinand gets the idea that Hubert, somehow, for some reason, likes this, talking to him, while Ferdinand silently worships him._ _

__Ferdinand somehow falls so deep into...some sort of feeling he doesn’t have words for, that he doesn’t know how long it’s been before Hubert’s hips begin slowly, gently rubbing against his own. Ferdinand groans against Hubert’s chest at the friction on his hardness, and eagerly presses his own hips up to meet Hubert’s._ _

__They rock against each other like that for some time, Hubert’s hands gently tightened in Ferdinand’s hair as the man leaves kiss-shaped marks against his chest. Ferdinand is in awe at the softness, how smooth Hubert’s chest is. The hardness of his nipples is splendid, the way they poke and tighten against Ferdinand’s gentle bites. Hubert is surprisingly vocal, telling him soft words all the while. “Just like that.” “Why are you holding yourself back?” “I love to see you like this.” Ferdinand has a suspicion that Hubert likes having his mouth free to speak._ _

__Eventually, though, Hubert lets out a discontented noise, and pulls Ferdinand’s head back by his hair. “I want your fingers in me,” he says, somewhat plainly. Ah, this was what Dorothea had been telling him, the importance of being clear about one’s desires in bed. Ferdinand can’t think of anything he wants more than to be able to continue with Hubert’s chest, though he thinks doing absolutely anything the man wants with him is a close second._ _

__He lets go of Hubert, and the man steps off of him, undressing quickly, efficiently. Ferdinand, almost dumbfounded, can only watch him. His fingers. In him… Oh, saints. Hubert’s shirt, previously ever so wonderfully draped around the man’s arms, comes off, exposing the most beautiful skin, and then his trousers are removed. Long legs, a thin form, he’s really a sight to behold._ _

__“Do you expect me to do everything for you?” Hubert directs Ferdinand’s attention back to himself. His face must look as lost as he feels, because Hubert sighs, some of the snappiness leaving his voice. “Come, stand up.”_ _

__Standing, Hubert makes quick work at the clasps of Ferdinand’s shirt, and it’s off in record time. Hubert takes a moment to appreciate Ferdinand’s naked upper body, and runs fingers along the curve of his pectoral muscles, approving. Next, he undoes Ferdinand’s trousers, slower now._ _

__And then they are both nude, in Ferdinand’s room, standing next to Ferdinand’s bed._ _

__Unlike Ferdinand, Hubert seems to have some idea what to do. His hands are back on Ferdinand’s shoulders, and he’s kissing him again. This kiss is all tongue and teeth, wet. Ferdinand’s just been using his mouth quite a lot and it shows, his lips puffy and the skin surrounding his mouth wet with his own spit. Hubert doesn’t seem to mind, as they kiss, messily, and Hubert crowds him back down to the bed._ _

__In bed, Hubert straddles Ferdinand again, but now, skin is blessedly touching skin. Hubert pushes Ferdinand to lay his back down, and he gets to watch the man from below, Hubert’s curly hair forming a dark halo in the subpar lighting._ _

__Hubert guides Ferdinand’s hand between his legs, to the thin dusting of trimmed black hair there. Hubert’s sex is warm and wet—a lot wetter than Ferdinand had expected. The slippery dampness there was evidence that Hubert enjoyed this, he thought, that he was getting pleasure from this. The lightest touch against him has Hubert inhaling, and Ferdinand can feel the muscles down there contract._ _

__“Inside,” Hubert demands with a single word, and who is Ferdinand to reject him? He’s amazed that how, without even being able to see, he’s able to find Hubert’s opening, and slide a finger in. It’s blessedly tight and warm, and the feeling of Hubert tightening around him is incredible. Ferdinand, testing himself, moves the finger, removing it nearly entirely, and then slipping it back in. It’s only a few moments before Hubert directs him to put in another._ _

__Two fingers inside of Hubert, and the man is rocking his hips, and Ferdinand seems to merely only need to keep his hand in place as Hubert fucks himself down onto them. Ferdinand can only look up, and uselessly move his hands, hoping to feel like he’s helping._ _

__The noises that Hubert makes are something else. He doesn’t hold himself back, soft moans and grunts spilling from his lips, and saints. He’s so beautiful. Ferdinand, inexperienced as he is, finds that he cannot just stand by and keep watch._ _

__It’s not so hard to turn the man over. Ferdinand has more than a couple pounds on him, and switching places is easy, even with his fingers inside of Hubert. Hubert seems disgruntled at first, but then amused, expectant. He’s looking up at Ferdinand, black hair splayed against his bedsheets, with an expression that says, ever so mischievously, _What are you planning for me next?__ _

__With the upper ground on Hubert, Ferdinand is able to leverage his weight. Now, he’s able to explore his fingers inside Hubert with more confidence, finding all the different angles he can touch. He finds that Hubert most likes when he thrusts them in and out, but not with the speed Ferdinand imagined in his rough idea of sex. Hubert enjoys something slow, and thorough, and his hips rock up to Ferdinand’s touch. “Finally, Ferdinand, you—ah!” And the noises he makes, goodness, Ferdinand wants to play him like a piano. Just watching him, touching him, seeing what he can do to make various noises, it’s like the most phenomenal operetta of all time. Huberts wetness builds, one of his thin pale hands comes down to touch himself beside Ferdinand’s hand, and his voice grows more desperate, and Ferdinand can only watch._ _

__And then he realizes that he is, in fact, only watching. He’s sort of staring, really, at Hubert, as the man is deep in the throws of pleasure, head lashing back against the mattress. His back is bowed, perfect chest perfectly exposed, and there is really only one thing to be done. He brings his lips to one of Hubert’s nipples, biting down. He feels Hubert tighten around him, the squeezing of his body nearly forcing Ferdinand’s fingers out of him, and then he hears him, voice high and open before he gasps for air. It takes Ferdinand a moment to realize that the man orgasmed, before he’s leaning forward to kiss him again._ _

__Hubert breathes heavy into the kiss, but doesn’t seem uninterested like Ferdinand images a lover might be after sex. No, instead, now, his hands are even more searching. Running over Ferdinand’s arms, his chest, his waist._ _

__“Fuck, Ferdinand, you devil.” A few more breaths, another stolen kiss. “I want you in me.”_ _

__“In you?”_ _

__Hubert kisses him again, and then pale hands are scratching against Ferdinand’s back—just because he can, Ferdinand thinks. “Yes. In me. You don’t need to play coy, I want you inside of me, I want you to fuck me, Fer—”_ _

__“But we’re not married yet!” Ferdinand exclaims, almost automatically._ _

__Hubert looks a combination of things. He looks like he’s just been driven over by a pegasus-knight carriage. He looks like he’s just eaten the worst meal of his life, and the food poisoning is hitting in too fast. He looks like Edelgard just told him some impossible plot he’d have to commit too—as if she told him she intended to turn into a monster or something of the sort. “You _what?_ ”_ _

__“I mean, it is just, I am joking, but—”_ _

__“You won’t have sex with me because we’re not _married yet_?” _ _

__“Hubert, I said it was a joke, my apologies, really, but—”_ _

__“What kind of joke—”_ _

__“I am not trying to make fun of you!” Ferdinand looks him directly in the eyes now, not allowing Hubert to avoid his gaze. He takes a breath. “Really. That is not my intention. I am merely…” He trails off, thinking, and Hubert seems to understand that, waiting for him. “I am merely nervous. I do not have an idea what I am doing. I do not want to mess this up. I really do not know if I am ready for that yet.” He brings a (slightly wet and sticky) hand to Hubert’s arm, touching him gently, attempting to be reassuring. “It is not that I do not want to fuck you, I really, really certainly do, it is just—”_ _

__“You don’t want to do that right now.” Hubert lets out a sigh. Exasperation. Ah, how Ferdinand wishes it could have been another of the man’s sweet sighs of pleasure. “Why didn’t you just say that, plain and simple?”_ _

__Ferdinand bites his lip. “I do not know. I am just… nervous, I suppose.”_ _

__Hubert looks up at him, and then brings a hand up to cup one side of Ferdinand’s face. “You’re so lucky you’re so cute.” He kisses him once, sweetly and shortly. “Up, now. I have an idea.”_ _

__He obeys Hubert, and lets the man guide him to sit at the edge of the bed again. For a moment, he thinks Hubert is about to straddle him again as he did before, but instead, Hubert gets down on his knees in front of Ferdinand, between his legs._ _

__Ah._ _

__For the first time that night, Huberts fingers graze against Ferdinand’s hardened erection. For a moment, it’d flagged with the anxiety of a minute beforehand, but Huberts soft guidance brings him back to full hardness. As his hand strokes him gently, Ferdinand concludes that he’s destined to not last very long. With Hubert looking up at him like that, the feeling of hands against his most sensitive parts, and the memories of the past hour or so fresh in his mind, all the odds are against him._ _

__And then, Hubert. Blessed, devilish, Hubert. Certified genius Hubert. Mastermind manipulator Hubert. Hubert leans forward, and uses his hand to guide Ferdinand’s cock so the head brushes against one perfect pale pink nipple._ _

__Ferdinand is shocked. Ferdinand is surprised. Ferdinand didn’t even know that was an option._ _

__And so, Hubert uses his hands to rub Ferdinand’s cock against his breasts, jerking him absently. “There we go. See? Nothing to be afraid of.”_ _

__Goddess. Ferdinand thinks he might cry. It was so intimate, so lewd, Ferdinand almost wants to close his eyes and not look. But he’s glued to the image before him, unable to look away. “Did you even know this is what you wanted?” Hubert asks him, and that voice! Ferdinand doesn’t know how he can go from the desperate moaning from so little ago to the soft, evil, teasing tones now._ _

__Hubert’s breasts are so beautiful, so stunning, and there’s Ferdinand’s unseemly piece of sin, rubbing red against that perfection. It feels dirty, and yet, the idea of ruining something clean builds up something deep inside him._ _

__It doesn’t take long until he’s spurting over Hubert’s chest, white cum dripping from his little breasts. The image alone almost makes him harden again._ _

__Hubert looks pleased with himself as he stands up from his kneeling position, gives Ferdinand a short kiss, and sits back on the bed. He uses his shirt from before to wipe the milky liquid from his chest and he lays back, breathing heavy. “Good?” he asks Ferdinand._ _

__“Hubert,” Ferdinand says, sounding like he just received a blow to the stomach during training._ _

__“Good.”_ _

__Hubert gathers Ferdinand in his arms, and situates the man lying beside him, tucked under the crook of his arm, head against his chest. Despite all of their previous activities, strangely enough Ferdinand doesn’t feel immeasurably turned on by being so close to Hubert’s breasts as he uses one as a pillow. Quite the contrary, it mostly just feels like skin, with a strong heartbeat underneath._ _

__“Are you finished?” he asks Hubert, after a moment. He understands that people with that set of equipment, sometimes it can take two or three times. “Satisfied, I mean.”_ _

__Hubert takes a moment to reply, and something in his voice sounds touched at the idea. “I am for now, thank you. Satisfied. I hadn’t thought you’d know to ask. Next time, I will have your mouth, though. There are a number of ways I can imagine you between my legs.”_ _

__Ferdinand tries to ignore the various mental images that arise in his mind. Begone lewd thoughts. He lets himself curl up against Hubert’s chest, and Hubert brings a hand to unbraid Ferdinands hair, cursedly still damp._ _

__“I’m afraid we may have missed dinner,” Hubert informs him, but Ferdinand can’t find it in himself to care._ _

__“We will just have to fend for ourselves,” Ferdinand tells him. “What have you on your schedule? We can stay in bed longer, perhaps. There can be more kissing.”_ _

__Hubert makes a contented noise at that. “Nothing of great importance. And nothing worth passing up a chance to explore more of you.” Hubert’s hands in his hair feel better than he ever expected somehow, and the way Ferdinand can feel the man’s heart beating, slower now, is magic. “You’re not too busy are you?”_ _

__Ferdinand immediately pushes to the side the five odd things left he had scheduled for the day. “Not at all. Though, I am getting the idea that you have just replaced my distractions with an even more...distracting one.”_ _

__“Maybe so,” Hubert tells him, and kisses the top of his head._ _

__Ferdinand shuts his eyes, and lets himself be whisked away in the beating of Hubert’s heart and the rise and fall of his breath. That is, until a thought makes his eyes open abruptly. “Ah, bugger!”_ _

__“What is it now?”_ _

__“The washing!” he says, and rises to search for the shirt of Hubert’s. “I have soiled it again! Where did it go?”_ _

__Hubert lays further back in bed. “You have got to be kidding me.”_ _

__“I must wash it for you, and this time, I will remember to take it down when it dries!”_ _

__Hubert sits up, and gathers Ferdinand around the middle in his arms from behind. His lips come to Ferdinand’s neck, and his hands trace up from his waist to Feridnand’s own pectorals. “You will do no such thing.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for going through this journey with me! this is the first fic i'm writing in a while, so any positive feedback would be phenomenal.
> 
> twitter: [@lawfulboi](https://twitter.com/lawfulboi). please come talk to me about fe3h or ferdibert or just titties! i hunger


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